Just Out of Reach
by ray4ruffles
Summary: After the mess that was Apocalypse and the Anti-Mutant fallout, Rogue just wants to try to be normal and work on her future like any 19-year old. And she's not the only one. However, when someone comes along to turn all mutants' lives upside-down, they'll all have to fight to figure out how to get through the Hellfire Society. SYOC open
1. Prologue-- The Hellfire Society

**A/N: This story takes place post series finale, in a twisted version of where the conflict could have gone. The only Canon characters featured are Rogue, Remy (just barely), and Emma Frost (who was due in the next season). Due process in the US, however, is more akin to that of our own universe and not so much the DC version, with one very important exception.**

* * *

A black sedan made its way through the rain-drenched streets just after eleven. Vice President Derek Conrad glanced at the two men ahead of him before turning back to the window—not that he could see anything through the downpour outside, but it made him feel less vulnerable.

The car made a right turn and paused for a moment, and the government official thought he could possibly make out a gate pulling open before the car continued its journey. They drove for what must have been another five miles before he saw the shadow of a massive residence drawing closer.

Another stoic man in sunglasses and a dark suit was waiting for them at the walk with an umbrella, and Derek found himself being escorted from the car to a wide foyer inside a spacious home.

He looked around curiously as the man replaced the umbrella and took the official's coat before stationing himself next to the front door. The former senator was uncomfortable with this visit, but ever since the incident six months ago, he knew he had to gain the upper hand on this problem; and upon discovering the existence of such a facility, he felt he needed to be fully briefed on its operations.

"Welcome Mr. Vice President," a seductive soprano greeted from the top of the luxurious staircase, and the gray-haired man looked up to see a stunning woman smiling down at him. Her features were flawless as she made her way down in a pristine white pantsuit, blonde hair barely moving even as it hung straight and clean behind her. Derek found himself making a conscious effort not to stare.

"Ms. Frost?" he asked uncertainly, for the woman before him seemed far too young to be involved in a twenty-year long operation.

"Please, call me Emma," the woman responded, extending her hand.

The man took it, offering his own name in return. "Agent Parsons explained to you why I came?" he asked, trying to regain the sobriety he'd maintained at the start of this mission.

"Of course," Emma replied genially. "And we are more than happy to comply with the current presidential staff."

They began walking down the spacious hall, filled with tapestries and paintings that seemed both magnificent and slightly disturbing, and the elder man continued to speak in an attempt to overcome his awe.

"You can understand my astonishment at discovering this sort of facility even existed," he told her. "I mean, the majority of the American population, myself included, just found out that…_Mutants_ existed." He shook his head in disbelief at the statement. "Not to mention the recent situation, it was certainly overwhelming to even know where to begin with dealing with such an issue. Then, to discover that the various government agencies had already made strides in the tracking and regulation of the population…well, it was certainly surprising."

"Well, when Phillip first approached me after the war, I'll admit I was taken aback by the sheer grand-scale of his plan," Emma replied as she reached a gilded door and pulled out a key ring. "However, when you see the results, I believe you'll see the beauty of the concept."

She opened the door and the government official stepped inside, noticing they were in what appeared to be a sort of high scale sports box. There were possibly a dozen television screens projected from various angles showing multiple persons that he did not recognize, as well as a large window that projected out on a large landscaped field that was lit bright as day.

"Scotch?" the breathtaking blonde asked, offering Derek a crystal glass from the bar he'd passed without really seeing. He took the glass and continued to look out onto the field, noting the woods, the waterways, and the sheer vastness of the grounds before him.

"I've arranged for you to view a special competition we've created just for your arrival," she told him, gesturing to yet another man in a black suit, who whispered into his collar. Suddenly, a loud bang sounded, and a dozen tiny dots began to run.

Emma led her guest to a couch with a view of the television screens. From there, he watched as the young people within the game began racing toward an unknown goal; saw the precision to which they used their powers. He watched in shock as fireballs shot out of their hands and knives projected from their skin.

"Of course under normal circumstances we provide, ahem, _investors_ with more information on the games," Emma explained as Derek watched a scarred black girl reach out and grab one of the other competitors, causing her to stop where she stood and begin staring about aimlessly, reaching out at the air in a daze. "Programs with full player profiles, statistics, score sheets; you can imagine."

Derek nodded as he watched a young girl transform before his eyes into a large, sleek cat and race up a tree, only to be brought down by a small boy as he grabbed the tree and ripped it from its roots with his bare hands.

When he watched the strong boy grab the cat and throw it violently against a large rock, he asked, "You just let them kill each other?"

Emma brought her hand to her chest with an offended look. "Mr. Vice President—Derek, of course not. I would never allow any such thing to happen to such precious assets. We have all sorts of people looking after our recruits." She pointed at the cat, now again a girl with a massive head wound, and Derek watched as the ground beneath her shifted down, taking her beneath it as the grass seemed to swallow her whole.

"She'll be taken to one of our Healers and be made right as rain," the blonde told him with an assuring smile. "Hopefully she will even learn from the experience and her skill will be made more worthwhile."

The pepper-haired official nodded and continued to watch the rest of the contenders. After another twenty minutes, a tall, cropped-haired young man seemed to reach the intended target and lifted up what appeared to be…a flag.

"Capture the flag?" he asked incredulously.

"Merely a demonstration," she informed him. "We have all sorts of training exercises in the Games."

Derek nodded, watching as the remaining contestants made their way to the center of the starting field. The winner stood on a bright platform, and four (including the Strong Boy that had taken out the Cat Girl) more joined him on lower ones.

"And the other four?" he asked.

"There are various rules and regulations that allow us to place our assets on various levels of achievement," she explained. "It makes for a more festive competition."

* * *

After the competition, Derek found that Ms. Frost had set up quite a meal for their meeting. He found himself feasting on venison and quail, with a French Onion soup that surpassed any he'd ever had.

"More wine, Mr. Vice President?" a young woman in all white scrubs asked, approaching him with a sophisticated bottle and refilling his glass.

"So what do you think of our little operation Derek?" Emma asked as she took another sip of her own wine.

"It's an interesting proposition," he admitted. "I can understand why the CIA would be interested in training up mutant operatives. Of course, I wish the cabinet had been included in this project."

"I feel that we've been waiting to work out a few glitches in the system still," the woman replied, beaming as the door opened. "Ah! Our special guest has arrived!"

The Vice President turned to see a young man entering the room that he recognized to be the winner of the previous contest he'd witnessed. Upon closer inspection, Derek found him to be in his mid-twenties, with a military-cut look to him and cold dark eyes.

"Derek, this is Bloodhound, one of our top contenders," she told him with a proud smile. "He's well on his way to graduating the program soon."

"Bloodhound?" the older man repeated with an uncertain chuckle. "You don't turn into a dog or something like that, do you son?"

The mutant opened his mouth, but Emma quickly supplied, "The Hound here is actually a tracker, Derek. His senses are fine-tuned to the point that he often knows the target before it's even announced. He is also well-trained in combat, making him quite the ideal specimen."

The official nodded, but stared critically at the unmoving guest. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something off about him. "I see. And are you prepared to serve your country, young man?" he asked.

"I'm prepared to bring the world to its knees in the next step of human evolution," the boy answered, causing Derek to double-take. The boy however, continued, "There is a war coming, where Homo sapien will inevitably see that its kind are in the throes of extinction. And it is then that the Hellfire Society will rise, and obliterate the very government that thought it could suppress us with propaganda and indoctrination while simultaneously training us for war and lining pockets with gold made from the blood of our Brothers and Sisters."

"Oh for heaven's sake," Emma sighed, watching as her meeting fell out of hand. She nodded to the guards at the door, who stepped forward to escort the boy out the door, and in turn moved to face the flabbergasted Secretary.

"Ma'am, you seem to have a lot of explaining to do!" he shouted angrily as he began to step toward the door. "The United States government will not sit idly by and watch as threats of terrorism and anarchy are waged against the very system that seeks to protect those making them! If I were you, I'd—"

But what she was supposed to do, the blonde woman never did find out; for at that moment, she reached out and took the elder man's hand, staring in his eyes with an intensity the he felt compelled to match as his jaw went slack and his words died in his throat.

"You'll have to forgive Hector, Mr. Vice President," she told him with a soft smile. "As I said, there are still some kinks left in the system to work out. However, I believe that what you've seen up until that point easily conveys all that you need to take back with you to Washington." Emma smiled again, and her words echoed through the soft putty that had become the official's memory. "So you will go back to your Cabinet and tell them that you fully support Agent Parsons' proposal to increase the recruitment of mutants for Operation Diamond. You may tell them what you remember about the MuTournament, but you will remember nothing else, nor will you exhibit any curiosity about the potential outcome of the mutants seen tonight."

Vice President Conrad climbed back into the black sedan and watched the large estate fade away into the distance. He'd thanked Ms. Frost (a charming and beautiful woman) for the lovely dinner, as well as the demonstration, promising to support her and Phillip Parsons' proposal when it appeared before the Cabinet later in the week.

For a moment he looked at his hand, rubbing it slightly as he remembered the delicate silk of her touch, before shaking his head for clarity and returning his gaze back to the torrents outside.

* * *

Meanwhile, Hector Cannis was roughly escorted back into the dining area, where the beautiful Emma Frost now leaned against a mantle, one finger rubbing her temple.

"Hector, you really must learn to keep yourself in check," she told him.

"I hate them," he told her bitterly. "I will not let them think I can be commanded."

Emma laughed at the irony of his statement, but continued, "My dear, you will find it is far easier to convince people to do as you wish when they think it is their own idea. And when I bring you out to speak to them, it would serve you well to help encourage such thoughts rather than derailing them altogether so that I have to erase them ever meeting you. You are still far too impulsive and stubborn, Hector. That's what's preventing your initiation, you know."

The young man took a step toward her, narrowing his eyes. "Then perhaps you should just modify my mind as well," he growled. "Why not just mold me into the perfect model soldier you've always wanted?"

"Oh Hector," Emma replied, her expression turning wounded as she cupped his chin. "I would not waste such beautiful minds as my recruits—you are too valuable, and far too strong, to live with the illusions that I place on minds such as that idiot Vice President. You know I'd never do such a thing."

She smiled at the younger man, whose features never shifted. In her mind, she wondered why she'd decided to call him Bloodhound instead of something more akin to his unmoving nature, but she had other things to think about.

"So what shall we do about Golvid?" she asked aloud, turning away from her pet.

The Hound's face cracked just a little before masking itself in indifference. "Is it really necessary?" he asked.

"These antics of his are getting to be too much," Emma replied with a sigh. "That scene today was just another purposeful jab at my operation that I do not wish to tolerate. I'm afraid if he doesn't shape up soon, his value may be outweighed by his liability."

"I'll speak to him," the other assured her.

Emma turned back to the gamer behind her with a tender smile. "I'm sure you will," she told him, blue eyes sparkling with a devious glint.

* * *

_And that's the beginning. There will be another chapter of introduction told from Rogue's POV before the application is included, just to give you a more complete idea of the basic arc. _

_This story is going to play out as an underground competition of Mutant Versus Mutant called the MuTournament. The competition is sort of similar to a cross between the Hunger Games and The Tri-Wizard Tournament with my own twist on the idea. However, no one will die in these games- there's a factor that keeps everyone competing, and consequences for losing, but overall everyone survives the competition itself. Just something to keep in mind as you read and create your character._


	2. Kidnapped

Rogue sat alone in a small square room, staring into the mirror ahead of her at her reflection. She had no doubt that it was one of those one-way glasses from cop shows, and that some guy in a suit was even now watching her staring in his general direction, trying to gauge how to break her.

Just then, as if on cue, the door to her left opened and a tall man with a stoic appearance entered, a beige file in his hand contrasting sharply with the deep black of his jacket.

The auburn-haired girl remained silent as she watched him sit and face her with a grim expression: whoever these people were, they were wrong if they thought she would be intimidated.

"I have the right to a lawyer," she told him matter-of-factly. Truthfully, she could care less about the lawyer; she just wanted to get ahold of the Professor whom she'd been trying to mentally project an SOS to ever since she'd gotten here.

"Terrorists are not entitled lawyers or any other Miranda rights," the man replied curtly, opening the folder in his hand and glancing at the contents.

"I'm not a terrorist!" Rogue spat, momentarily losing her cool as she stared incredulously at the man.

"No?" the man asked, eyebrow raised. "Were you or were you not part of a collective unit that approximately six months ago were almost responsible for an attack on multiple nations' soils that could have cost hundreds of lives and caused irreparable damage to national relations between said nations and the US?"

"What?" Rogue said in disbelief. "We _prevented_ that Mutant from destroying everything—we _saved_ lives."

The man raised an eyebrow. "We?" he repeated.

Rogue clamped her mouth down and cursed internally. She'd already blown one of her promises to Remy; she wasn't going to screw up the second.

The two sat in silence for another moment, until the man finally pursed his lips in disappointment. "I see," he said, shutting the file and standing.

"Wait, where are you going?" Rogue demanded as he strode out of the room. The door shut and she groaned loudly. What was going on here?  
It was only a month ago that she had even found out that there was anything to be worried _about_. One lousy month since she had landed in JFK airport after a well-deserved vacation backpacking through Europe after graduation and preventing the Apocalypse, and with Mutant relations such a hot-topic item everywhere, she thought she'd better get in as much time having normal adventures as she could.

It was at JFK that she had run into Remy, looking even more ragged than usual, whispering in hushed tones about mysterious government types kidnapping mutants for unknown reasons. He had told her that he was on the run, and if she was smart she would join him, or at least go home. Rogue had been skeptical; she'd spoken to Kurt on the phone just the day before, and while not always the most reliable, he surely would have mentioned if there was a specific danger in a mutant traveling. Not to mention the Professor could send her a mental message at any time if there was danger. Plus, there hadn't been anything different than usual on the news—surely Remy was just being paranoid?

Regardless, the Cajun had made her promise that if "de pigs come by, chér, you run de other way, yeah? And if dey get you, you don't tell dem nothin'."

She'd assured him she'd be careful, but hadn't thought much on the conversation until arriving at the train station in Boston two days ago and being flanked by two men in suits, pulling badges and introducing themselves as Special Agent Thompson and Flynn, informing her that she was wanted for questioning and asking her to please come with them.

Not knowing what else to do she'd followed instructions, but after what had to be at least a day sitting mostly alone in this interrogation room, then being transported to a different interrogation room in god knows where with people coming in and throwing around words like "terrorist", she was terrified about what Remy had said and what was going to happen to her, and had stubbornly clung to her second promise like it was her only saving grace.

Rogue sat alone for what seemed like an eternity, adjusting her gloves to keep herself properly covered. She didn't want to use her powers yet, since she was stuck in a tiny room with no idea where the way out was and how many people stood between her and it. She knew they knew her as a mutant, but how much else did they know?

The door finally opened again, and yet another agent walked in—this one carrying handcuffs.

"Hands on the table where I can see them," he told her, approaching slowly with the metal outstretched.

Rogue knew she needed her hands if she was going to get out of here, and she decided that her chances of escape didn't look any better than what they were currently. She reached out and with one fluid motion slipped off a glove and cupped the man's face, feeling a flash of dizziness as he cried out and crumbled to the ground.

She quickly stepped over Agent Cameron Mane (who was currently divorcing his wife of five years and living in a one-bedroom studio two blocks away with way too much take-out Chinese in his refrigerator) and slipped out the door into an open hallway. She knew Mane was planning on taking her to the car out the back, so she quickly decided to go the other direction and attempt to find a side exit.

Rogue was almost within reach of the door at the end of the hallway when she heard cries from behind her. She heard a click, felt a pinch in her shoulder, and with a shudder of electricity and pain she felt herself hit the floor and slip into unconsciousness.

* * *

When Rogue awoke, she found herself in a new room. This one, however, was more akin to a very nice prison cell, including a skylight above her that informed her it was twilight. As she rose from the soft comforter that covered her bed, she glanced around: crinkling her nose at the toilet and sink in the corner; glancing curiously in the fully-stocked drawers of the dresser; and finally stepping to the transparent wall that separated her from the darkened corridor beyond.

A muted thud caused her to look up in surprise, and she squinted across the hall to see another room identical to her own, only with a young boy throwing himself against the wall. The cell was in a state of disarray from what she could see, with the dresser overturned and drawers flung about. As the streaked-haired girl watched him push his sweat-soaked bangs away from his forehead, she wondered how long he'd been attempting to break through.

"Hey!" Rogue called out, hearing a dull echo that she took to mean the walls were sound-proofed. However, she could see ventilations slits near the top of the glass, and called out upwards, "Hey!"

The boy across the hall looked up and stared at her. He suddenly pushed up against the wall again, hair flying. "Help!" he cried out to her.

Rogue tried not scoff. Help him? She was in the exact same spot, and wasn't even sure she could help herself. However, he looked so scared, she couldn't help but want to do something to comfort him.

"It's going to be okay!" she shouted through the slits. "What's your name?"

The boy shouted back, but the words were muffled and she couldn't understand. However, the conversation between them was suddenly interrupted by the lights of the hallway suddenly powering up.

As her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, she realized that her and the boy's cells were two of many—that they in fact were lined up in long rows filled with numerous frightened and furious looking teenagers.

The second thing she noticed was the reason for the lights: a small group of people walking down the hallway. They walked slowly, glancing at each cell's occupant with interest.

The floor lit up with dozens of voices, all crying out for help or information, and yet the assembly ignored them as if they couldn't hear, continuing to walk around and investigate the room.

As Rogue watched a boy maybe in his early twenties stop at the cell across from her, she heard him call out, "Hey Luce—what about this one?"

Rogue looked around and watched a dark-skinned girl join her friend, giving the young boy behind the glass an appraising eye before shaking her head with a snort and continuing on.

_Appraising_. That's what Rogue realized they were doing. The group was judging them, assessing them. But how? And for what?

Rogue strained her ears against the muted roar of voices still calling out to listen on the words of the others, but she could only hear them making observations and claims on the imprisoned.

The noise began to rise up again and she realized that the gang was heading back down the hallway, still ignoring any pleas or demands around them as they huddled together in discussion. She was about to walk back to her bed to reconsider her next move when she realized the girl from before was standing five feet in front of her cell, staring at Rogue methodically.

Rogue couldn't help but notice the scars that peppered the girl's left side, the worst cutting deep into her face from temple down to her jaw. The scars looked old, and Rogue wondered what had caused them.

"Lucy!" a girl's voice called out from down the hall. "You got a pup in this round or are you sitting out?"

Lucy said nothing, but continued to stare at the pale girl. Rogue held her own, all but glaring in response as she watched the older girl's green eyes focus on her.

"Lucy!" the girl yelled again in agitation, finally getting the attention of its target. The black girl brushed aside her hand across her hair, perfectly slicked braids pulled before into a tight pony, smirking and shouting with a British inflection, "In!"

Rogue watched her walk away with the rest of the group, before returning to her bed to try to mute out the dull din of the surrounding ells still trying to be heard.

* * *

_Okay, hopefully you have a pretty good idea of what kind of style I'm going for, as well as what kind of characters will be involved. Please PM your characters, and remember, detail is our friend!_

Guidelines for Character Submission (done in review or PM):

** first and foremost, I reserve the right to make creative changes to any submissions. I'll try to clear anything big with the creator, but I reserve the right to change anything to help my story.

** the biggest factor is that every mutant's power is based on physicality- there is no mental projection or manipulation involved. Characters that demonstrate this are Jubilee, Blob, Spyke, and Toad. Characters that don't are Storm, Jean Grey, Avalanche, and Magneto. All characters need a power based on physical projection.

** there will be various levels of alliance, as will be explained in the following chapters. Your character will either be anti-establishment (desperate to rebel) like Rogue, pro-establishment (loyal to the cause) like Hector/Bloodhound, or self-serving (only interested in protecting themselves) like Lucy. You can, however, have varying or overlapping levels of loyalty (like self-serving but anti-establishment, or hating the system but still loyal to it)

** don't make your character perfect or super-powerful. No submission should be loved by all; unbeatable in the games; or be able to fly, turn invisible, have super-strength, and be able to shoot laser beams from their hands all at once.

** I don't write about characters with sexual-assault or self-harm issues. Fair warning now-it just doesn't happen.

** finally, try to be detailed. The more you write about the character, the more likely I am to see a place for him/her.

Profile:

Name|Nicknames|Code Name:

Which do they go by?:

Age (16-22):

Gender/Sexuality:

Power (remember the rule):

Appearance (height, build, hair/eye color, defining features, Celebrity Look-alike):

Personality:

Likes:

Dislikes

Habits/Quirks:

Fears/Secrets:

History:

Friends' Attributes:

Enemies' Attributes:

Love Interests' Attributes:

Example of dialogue:

Example of using their power:

Loyalty (pro-establishment, anti-establishment, self-serving):

How long has your character been competing?:

How well does your character place? (mostly top brackets, loses a lot, low scores with some wins, hasn't competed yet, etc):

*In this story, they will be provided with an outfit (costume) that enhances/stabilizes their powers somewhat. They'll also have the outfit they were taken in.

What is the outfit they have with them?:

Would they choose to wear it or the costume for the match? (if you want to throw in suggestions for the costume, feel free, but no promises):

Other/Extra:


	3. Welcome to Hell

A loud buzzer sounded, and Rogue found herself bolting upright to the soft light of dawn. She looked out into the corridor and watched as the others on the block wandered to the front of the plexi-glass door, all of them craning to see down the hall.

The auburn-haired girl's interest was piqued, however, when she realized the desperate calling and pleading had started up again, and she pushed her cheek up against the wall to see multiple people in matching crisp white uniforms pushing carts toward various cells. Rogue watched as the personnel stopped in front of the teens, each speaking in a clear, detached tone as they gave directions. She stared curiously as the other prisoners stepped backwards in their cells and large trays were pulled from the carts.

As she tried to take everything in, the x-man was distracted by the scene catching the corner of her eye. Two cells from over and across from her Rogue saw a tall girl hunched over on the floor, curled in obvious pain. In front of her stood a man in a crisp white uniform, and while she couldn't see his face, Rogue felt that his body language spoke volumes of indifference toward the scene playing before him. She stared in awe as the poor girl (who couldn't have been older than sixteen) made an attempt to reach out to the glass before keeling over in a fresh wave of agony. After another minute, the defeated teenager feebly pushed herself along the ground to the back of the wall.

Rogue watched in disgust and outrage, turning her head to try to process everything, and found herself face-to-face with another white uniform. The woman facing her was quiet and devoid of emotion as she instructed Rogue to keep her hands visible and back to the far wall of her cell. She considered protesting, but remembered the tall girl and decided that if she was going to escape, she'd need as much of her strength as possible.

She pushed herself up against the stone, a good two feet away from the sink that was supposed to represent her bathroom, and watched as the woman reached into her cart and pulled out a large tray. Her white gloved hands took a thin plastic card and inserted it somewhere in the wall beside the transparent door, causing a whirring sound to occur while the wall sucked in the tray and deposited it onto her bed.

The woman, whose eyes had never left Rogue through the entire process, informed her that her escort would be coming in one hour and without another word turned herself and the cart back to the hall to continue its rounds. Rogue raced from her spot on the wall to the glass, but the woman just continued on three cells down to repeat the process, ignoring the prisoners still crying out to be heard.

The gray-eyed girl whirled back in anger, throwing her arms out furiously as she gripped the tray on her bed and threw it against the wall. The platter crashed loudly to the ground, with fruit and bread and a carton of milk flying across the floor. Still livid, Rogue proceeded to kick any object that rolled toward her, effectively making a mess of her cell.

As she exhausted herself in her anger, she finally noticed an embossed white envelope resting gently on the bed. The black ink was delicate and intricate, spelling out "To Our Most Honored Guest" as if promising to be an invitation to an extravagant affair.

Rogue couldn't help herself: she crossed over to the bed and ripped open the envelope, removing the cardstock inside. She scoffed in disbelief at what she read:

_Greetings Recruit!_

_Welcome to your first day of training in the official Hellfire MuTournament. You have been hand-selected for your unique gifts and considerable potential to take part in the trials that will lead to your initiation into the Hellfire Society, a prestigious and elite team of mutants with connections and operations beyond your wildest dreams._

_So eat up, dress comfortably, and be ready in an hour for a day full of training, where you will meet you're your new mentors, teammates, and friends. This will be followed by your first Education Seminar, where you will be introduced to the head team of Operation Diamond. _

_Once again, welcome and good luck!_

_Emma Frost_

_Co-founder of Operation Diamond and Elite member of Hellfire Society_

The X-man stared at the letter incredulously before crumpling it up and flopping backwards onto her bed. She _had_ a team—she didn't want to be part of this Hellfire-whatever that kidnapped kids into their group. She wasn't going to touch the likely-drugged food, or the stupid looking gym clothes, or stay in this stupid cell for another minute.

* * *

Rogue spent the next hour lying on her back, fingers pushed hard against her temples, trying desperately to contact the Professor. Even when a man in a dark, imposing-looking uniform appeared and demanded she keep her hands visible and move to the back of the cell, she stayed on the bed, screaming mentally for the Professor to find her.

Suddenly she felt an odd static in the air, followed by a sudden electrical current knocking her off of the bed and onto the floor, the pain as acute as one of Storm's lightning bolts. Fighting to control her own muscles and resist the urge to curl into a fetal position on the floor, Rogue looked up painfully as she watched the man staring at her unaffectedly through his dark sunglasses.

"Miss, you need to keep your hands in plain view and move to the back of your cell," he repeated in a cool tone.

Rogue felt the current pause, and slowly rose to her feet. She remembered the girl across the hall, and chose to comply for now, keeping her hands raised slightly as she backed against the wall.

The static receded from the air, and Rogue watched as the man touched yet another plastic card against the wall. This one caused the wall separating her from the man to disappear however, and he stepped forward, flattening the bread from her breakfast underfoot as a thick leather glove encased her wrist and led her into the corridor where she walked with the others, flanked by even more guards toward the ominous looking door at the end.

"Shouldn't I be in uniform?" she sneered defiantly, taking note that while many wore the attire included in the drawers, quite a few remained in the dirty clothes they'd been taken in.

The guard shrugged indifferently. "It makes no difference to me."

"Then why bother taking us in the first place? Why can't I stay in the cell?" she asked.

"I want to go home!" a girl sobbed loudly from behind them.

"What have you done to us?" a boy called out from in front of her.

"All of you! Quiet!" a loud voice boomed from the front of the line, and Rogue felt everyone go mute instantly as the air crackled with static.

The rest of the trip was silent, with nothing but the echoing of foot treads and quiet sobbing to track their progress. Door after door, hallway after hallway: left, right, straight, and right again. The white-streaked girl was beginning to wonder if they would ever reach their destination.

Finally they made their way through gilded double doors located at the end of the hall, and Rogue found herself in a magnificent room, stocked with various training equipment, mats, and what looked to be something like training simulations in the far end. The room was crowded with bodies leaning against the walls, watching them enter, and Rogue recognized the scarred girl from last night as well as some of her friends. The dark girl offered her a smirk, and Rogue scowled, turning away and back toward the center circle that the group was being herded into.

A large, stocky man with a dark military haircut made his onto an elevated platform that stood before them, and Rogue found herself staring, captivated, by him. He was like the multitudes of other guards and personnel she'd seen in the last twenty-four hours, cold and indifferent in stature and demeanor. However, she felt that there was something about him that was different as well; something still human.

"Welcome recruits," the man's voice boomed out, effectively silencing the already-quiet room. Rogue felt that even the floors were too intimidated to creak. "I am Hector Cannis, your mentor and director of the recruitment. This is your first day of training, and it will likely be your hardest. I hope that you each took full advantage of the breakfast and clothing afforded to you, because you will be pushed to your limit either way.

You will be set up in teams of four and rotated through circuit work-outs, sparring, and various physical and mental testing. All of these are set up to assess your abilities beyond your evolutionary gifts—"

"What happened to our powers?!" a boy interrupted, and Rogue looked around, watching various teens around her throwing out their hands or squinting in intense focus and looking perplexed by the lack of result. She had not attempted to use her power since the interrogation room, and, if the terrified faces around her were any indication, she would no longer be able to.

"Your powers have been temporarily disabled during your time in training," Hector replied loudly, letting his voice overpower the din that threatened to dissolve into a riot. "They will be restored in time for the Trials, but they will be restricted in various locations throughout your stay here for your own safety."

"I don't want to be in the Hellfire Society!" a girl pleaded. "I just want to go home!"

"This is bullshit!" someone retorted angrily. "You don't have the right—"

"This program has been approved by the United States Government, and every member of the Hellfire Society has personally undergone similar training that you will in this time," the man continued on. "You will be proud to know that the very men and women you will be joining will be watching and assessing you throughout your time here."

Rogue took the information in to the full extent it was given—they were somehow cut off from their powers, leaving them all but helpless surrounded by either mutant or technologically sadistic guards. And, if their leader was to be believed, the cameras she now noticed all around the room would be constantly surveyed by both government and whatever Hellfire people around the clock, making escape all but hopeless.  
Hector gazed over the thirty-something teens in front of him, allowing the information to sink in. "You will go to your stations and train as the other mentors instruct you." He gestured around at the various people leaning against the walls. "You will work only with your team, and spar only with your assigned partners. You will not ask questions not directly pertaining to your drills, and you will only answer information asked by the mentors. Training will break for lunch, then continue until your Education Seminar, after which you will be excused for dinner and then lights out. Get ready for Hell."

After that they were separated into small groups and began working their way around the room. Rogue followed orders well enough, as she was used to training and hand-to-hand. However, as she watched some of the others, she noted that some of them were relatively lost without their powers. If it hadn't been so awful, she would have laughed as a boy almost knocked himself out cold by running straight into a scaling-wall, or the girl whose defense against an onslaught of tiny metal discs was to jump a foot and a half upwards. Both obviously had great power in their mutation, as the reminder of their normality, more than the pain of the act itself, was what left them subdued and broken.

The "mentors" along the walls were equally polarized. At a weapons training circuit she met Ean, who seemed irritated by the new recruits, barely interested in even speaking to them, much less helping them. However, there was also the enormous Connor, who, though seemingly preoccupied, still attempted to ease the teens into their new life with helpful tips and good humor.

The girl that Rogue found herself paired up with seemed to handle training well enough. She was small-framed, dark-skinned, and quiet to the point that Rogue wondered if she even _could_ talk. However, she was more than capable of flitting through obstacles in core training and ducking blows in sparring. Rogue decided that she liked the pixie-like girl, and wondered if they would have the opportunity to become allies, if not friends.

The mentor switched the pairings, and the goth mutant found herself on the winning side of a sad fight. The boy she was facing was obviously not used to combat, strategy, or likely even fighting, and was easily downed over and over again. Rogue tried to go easy on him, but he seemed so scared that he would trip over his own feet and once again end up face down on the mat.

A cackling of laughter rose up behind them, and Rogue turned to see the scarred girl, Lucy, and her posse watching the session in front of them.

"That right there is a sad bloke if I ever saw one," she scoffed. Her black braids swished back and forth as she stepped forward and spat on the whimpering boy. "Might as well stay on your arse, boy, since you ain't seem to got any other spot in this place."

"Why don't you leave him alone?!" Rogue half-shouted, half-growled as she stepped forward and pushed the girl back toward her friends. Her anger and frustration had stewed to a breaking point, and if she was going to take it out on anyone, this arrogant bitch was as good of a target as anyone.

Far from angry, the dark-skinned girl's lips turned upward into a smirk, disfiguring the left side of her face even further.

"Ah," she said. "Little pup's got a bit of bite in her after all." She stepped forward onto the mat and raised her fists. "Okay then, pup, let's see what you've got."

The girls began circling each other, feinting blows at first until they finally began a full-brawl. There were many cries of "Get her Lucy!", but also quite a few, "Take it to her!" that Rogue soon realized were meant in support of herself.

Lucy was quite skilled—she had full use of her body, toned and agile, and apparently quite a bit of combat training (no surprise if she'd been here long). However, Rogue had training, both in simulation and, more importantly, real life. She found herself matching the older girl blow for blow as each tried to gain the upper hand.

Suddenly Lucy struck out a kick to Rogue's torso, allowing the auburn-haired girl to grip her foot and twist it sharply. The dark girl lost her balance as she crashed to the floor, but Rogue had no opportunity to take advantage of her gain as a long leg struck out and knocked her knees out from under her, taking her down to the mat as well.

The two grappled for dominance a while longer before the scarred veteran finally pinned her down. The girls panted to catch their breath as they glared at each other.

Suddenly, "Lucy!" boomed a voice behind them, and the group surrounding the girls quickly dispersed as Hector stood angrily in front of the two. "I will not tolerate this nonsense," he told her harshly. "Recruits will only spar with other recruits, and you will not disrupt my session again."

The dark-skinned girl smirked again, causing her scar to create a jagged mess on her face, and she looked down at Rogue. "Another time then, little pup," she whispered, jumping up and saluting the man before flitting to the other side of the gym where her followers waited for her.

Rogue moved to her feet to find that Hector's gaze had turned to her, and she glared back at him defiantly. After a minute of silence, he nodded and asked, "Name?"

Rogue said nothing at first, trying to decide how and if to answer. Finally, she gave the only name she felt safe with them knowing: "Rogue."

If she had expected him to question her answer, or to force a different one from her, she was mistaken, as the man simply penned her words into a small gadget and turned to continue to another part of the gym.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to get the next chapter out- an unhappy crash caused all my files to take a perma-vacation. But I have a good idea for this story, so I still want to try to rewrite it. Characters are coming out a little faster in the next chapter, so if you don't see yours, give it some time. I still, however, need at least one more male contender, so if anyone reading is interested in submitting a new character, I'd appreciate it. **

**Also, reviews are our friends.  
**

**A/A/N: Credit goes to creators in Order of (Named) Appearance:**

**Rogue and Emma Frost: _Steven Gordon and Marvel Comics_**

**Hector "Bloodhound" Cannis and Lucy: _me_**

**Ean Walker: _Book Mac_**

**Connor Wells: _munamana_**


	4. First Meetings

Damien Burke ran his wrist chip below the scanner and loaded up his tray for lunch. There was a smorgasbord of goodies to choose from: avacado, edamame, salmon—all sorts of high protein super-food snacks to try to bulk up the new recruits. Foods like these became rare to all but the top-level brackets once the games started, and he wanted to get in as much as possible.

Balancing his tray in one hand, the lanky boy pushed back his shaggy brown hair and looked around the cafeteria for somewhere to eat. He quickly spotted Lucy and some of the others, off toward the back, no doubt discussing what they considered the highlights of the morning, analyzing their dogs' triumphs and missteps. His own mutt, the rough-looking girl with a nose piercing, was already off to a slow start, and he could guess that he'd be waving goodbye to his brand new Penn State sweatshirt from one of his sponsors by the end of the week.

Not really wanting to go over the mess of the morning breakdown, Damien allowed his hazel gaze to continue scanning the crowd, easily distinguishing the solitary, despondent tables of the newbies from the loud—or at least calm—tables of the veterans; and finally targeted a small table near the wall, where a pale girl, completely covered up by the sheer street clothes she'd worn to training, sat silently next to the skinny girl with a pixie cut that had shown up just last week.

The nineteen year old stood and considered the goth-looking girl. Her defiant, angry gaze wasn't a new one by any means; and though she could obviously hold her own in a fight without powers, it still wasn't overtly phenomenal. And yet this was the pup that Lucy had bet on—and Lucy, when she bet, almost always won big.

Damien decided he wanted to get a closer look at the girl, just to try to see what Lucy seemed to. He began making his way over when his view was blocked by a ridiculously tall teenager who had appeared in front of him and hunched over the girls' table.

Damien sighed and walked a little faster, coming up to the group at the tail end of the boy's words.

"—and I would be more than happy to give you gorgeous girls a personal tour of the place," he told them as he smiled suggestively as he fingered the puka shells threaded along his choker.

"How about you take your personal tour and shove it up your—" The streaked-haired girl replied, her body language in no way intimidated by her new surroundings.

"Reggy, why don't you go be skeazy somewhere else?" The smaller boy followed up, causing the younger male to turn around, yellow eyes staring down at Damien in displeasure. Damien tensed for a moment, but outwardly remained calm: Reggy was never one to turn down a challenge, but he was also not stupid enough to pick a fight in a cafeteria filled with guards.

"Hey, no offense meant," Reggy replied after a moment of consideration, running his hands through his cornrows and picking up his tray. "Just trying to make the new recruits feel welcome. I've got prior engagements anyways."

"Yeah, I'll bet," the older boy commented as he watched the dark-skinned kid go. Damien turned back to the girls at the table. "You'll have to excuse Reggy. Being he's barely seventeen, he really only thinks about one thing."

"I've dealt with worse," the girl answered, eyeing him warily as he remained standing. "So what's your deal then?"

Damien took that as an invitation and placed his tray on the table, sliding into an empty chair. "Damien Burke," he replied, extending a hand. "From New Lyme, Connecticut. Competing in the MuTournament almost seven months now."

The dark-skinned girl—why couldn't he remember her name?—glared at the hand, obviously not interested in anything the Tournament offered, while the gray-eyed one considered it carefully before reaching out and taking it in her own.

"Rogue," she told him vaguely. "Not from here."

Damien saw the challenge in her eyes, waiting for him to comment on the alias she'd provided, but he honestly didn't care. There were many just like her here, people who thought they were safer with their code names and revealing as little about themselves as possible. Though her Southern accent and city demeanor was pretty distinct—he guessed maybe Atlanta or Jackson.

So he simply answered, "Nice to meet you Rogue," and chewed a forkful of salmon.

Her eyebrows quirked again, pondering over him, and she continued, "And this is—"

"Oh, everyone already knows Zephyr, right Damien?" a voice piped up from behind them, and the brunette turned to see a petite eighteen-year old flitting into the seat next to him, her long blonde tail sneaking from behind her just before she sat down and lazily winding itself on the back leg of her chair. "The ghetto girl too cool for school, isn't that right?"

Despite the fact that Damien was relieved that he finally was able to jog memory of the girl, he couldn't help but groan slightly at the new arrival. Aimee was sweet enough, but she seemed to have a knack for constantly rubbing people the wrong way.

The girl, however, smiled over at Rogue and continued, "You'll find that refusing to give your name just forces people to come up with one for you. Zephyr here has played Helen Keller the whole week she's been here, but when the gloves came off on the field, there was only one name for her and those whirlwinds in her hands, right Damien?"

"Helen Keller was _blind, deaf, and mute_, Aimee," Damien quietly informed the young girl beside him. "I'm pretty sure Zeph here has all of her faculties, even if she chooses not to use some of them." In fact, he knew Zephyr could speak—had heard her quote Ginsberg in the field, actually—but didn't feel the need to divulge that tidbit to anyone in particular.

"Whatever," Aimee huffed, taking a bite out of her orange peel and spitting it onto her plate as she dug her thumb into the hole and skinned the rest of the fruit.

"Careful Aims," a voice called out from behind, and Damien smiled as Connor slipped into the seat beside them, Cade and Beezie dragging chairs behind them to join the table. "Bitterness doesn't suit you."

"You should laugh about your ride into that willow, like the rest of us," Beezie's British accent added with a smile, though Aimee's glare caused her to retreat back toward Cade with a frown.

The group settled and began to descend into normal gossip, and the shaggy brunette watched with fascination at the melding. Cade had once told him that he had a magnetic personality, had even suggested that maybe it was a secondary mutation that he possessed. However, it wasn't a natural desire for him to be surrounded by people, so it was only in situations like this that the boy really considered it. After all, how else could a table made up of two fresh pups, three "rebels" and a "lackey" (as Lucy liked to call them) all sit together in relative harmony?

All semi-decent things seem to come to a premature end here, though, and of course it was the guards that set it off.

A husky Latino in all black walked by, thumbs sitting smugly in his belt loops. He paused, however, as he spotted Aimee chatting animatedly with Connor.

"Hey Simian," he called out, causing both to close their mouths in sync. "You lost?"

The blonde girl looked around and blushed, though Damien watched as she attempted to hold her ground. "Sorry Hammond; didn't know there was somewhere to be," she replied with a coy smile. "You got something to relay from the boss?"

The smug look on Hammond's face cracked a little at the dig—the obvious jab on Aimee's part to remind the guard that, despite all that he'd worked for, he was only a little better off than the rest of them.

However, he responded with a sneer, "No. I guess if I'd had a similarly embarrassing performance in the Arena last time, I'd want to put out feelers for my competition." And, as Aimee blushed again, he threw a malicious look at Connor. "Though if I were you I'd probably wait until tonight for a full visual."

Hammond winked at the table as he let the comment sink in, then turned his back on the group and walked away just as superior as when he came.

Damien wasn't sure what the creepy Hispanic ass was referring to—well, that wasn't true. He knew exactly what Hammond was talking about: the Education Seminar. He glanced at Connor and Cade and saw that the mammoth of a teen's eyes had widened to saucer plates.

"Connor," the girl tried to assure her friend. "We don't know—"

"He hasn't come back from the Infirmary yet," Connor cut her off, standing suddenly and jolting the table a full foot in the process, knocking Damien and Zephyr from their seats.

By the time Damien had righted himself, the boy and his two companions were gone, racing from the cafeteria and down the hall.

Aimee met Damien's gaze and cleared her throat. "I should probably meet up with Lamina anyways," she said. "We should really be sticking together today."

And then it was just him and the two new girls, staring around in confusion at the scene that had played out before them, and only the poor hazel-eyed boy to explain things.

Which Damien was not up for. "Sorry," he replied when Rogue prompted him for answers. "It's just something—it's hard to explain." And, feeling emotionally drained and suddenly not hungry at all, he excused himself and made his way back to Lucy's crowd, where none besides the dark-skinned girl seemed to have even noticed his absence. Most of them didn't care whether he joined them or not anyways, the bonds between them always so fickle, but the scarred mutant gave him a second inquiring glance before his curt shake caused her to focus her attention back on Reggy.

But, as he pulled out a small book from his coat pocket, Damien Burke was not looking forward to the second half of this day at all.

* * *

**A/N: Slowly but surely getting in there- thanks for sticking with me so far! If you feel like your characters being misrepresented, feel free to send me a note, but also take into consideration that as the POV changes, each character may be seen differently by some of the others. Also, reviews are love!  
**

******A/A/N: Thanks to the creators who submitted their characters for my personal use. **Credit goes to creators in Order of (Named) Appearance:

**Damien Burke: _Thewritinggirl23_**

**Reggy Walker: _Greywing44_**

**Zephyr: _Lilmiznormal_**

**Aimee Norton: _The Lady Cloud_**

**Cade Harris: _Dino724_**

**Beezie: _Arina-Peachy_**


End file.
